


One Each End and Steady as We Go

by Anonymous



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens like Donna. A lot. And who can blame them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Each End and Steady as We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Imagery blatantly stolen from Catherine Tate filming Gulliver's Travels. May contain jokes in bad taste about Donna's décolletage. (Oh, the shame.)

When the Doctor finally finds Donna, she's sprawled out on a ridiculously ostentatious throne, wearing a white dress, a tiara and rather smug grin.

"Queen Donna?" he says incredulously. "I'm not calling you that." One of the aliens pokes a spear into his spine once again, and then makes one of their strange crunching sounds, accompanied by a three-armed gesture.

"Sorry," Donna says, not looking very sorry at all, "they're very serious about decorum. They might run you through with one of those harpoons if you don't."

The Doctor looks at the tentacled aliens surrounding them. "And how would you know that when neither of us can understand them?"

"Oh, I think I got the important bits," Donna says and grabs a handful of what looks like a cross between grapes and strawberries from the bowl sitting on the armrest. "Why isn't the TARDIS translating anyway?"

"Ah, well. She's never been that good with nonverbal languages. Once I've seen and heard more of it I'll be able to understand it, just got to get a feel for the basic syntax. It's quite fascinating actually; they seem to rely on a combination of wordless noises and eight-armed sign language. Not sure how the claws figure into it yet, though."

Donna appears to have stopped listening. She has a bad habit of doing that just as he's getting to a really interesting point. She props her feet up on a stool and leans back on the throne. It's all looking a little _too_ comfortable, actually.

"We should leave," he says.

Donna flips a strand of hair back behind her shoulders. As if the dress isn't bad enough, her hair is made up in an arrangement that is giving his Time Lord senses vertigo. He's given up on trying to make sense of it.

"We finally land in a nice place where they like us - well, me - and you want to leave right away? You need to learn how to relax, Time Boy."

Well, it may be easier to relax for those in the room who don't have the very sharp tip of a spear pressed into their backs, but for some reason the Doctor doesn't think Donna is feeling very sympathetic about that. "How did this happen anyway?" he sighs.

"I don't know," Donna says, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "They just seemed to like me a lot."

"Still, crowning you queen seems a bit excessive."

"You're just jealous."

The Doctor isn't jealous at all, not even a tiny bit, although those strawberry-grapes look really tasty. "Can I...?" he asks and reaches for them, only to be stopped by another, rather painful, spear poke.

"Terribly sorry, Doctor," Donna says, again not having much success at actually looking or sounding like she is.

"We really do need to leave."

"Yes, yes, _all right_. Just let me finish the grapes first. Don't want to be rude."

"Where did they even get that dress from?" He grabs her hand and brings the sleeve of her dress up to his face to take a whiff.

"Oi! Stop smelling me!" Donna says and snatches her hand back. "That's just _weird_."

"Transmutic cloth." At Donna's nonplussed face, he continues, "It adapts to its wearer. Doesn't matter if you've got eight arms or two. One size fits all!"

"Really?" Donna makes a face. "'Cause it's not all that comfortable."

"Well, they're still perfecting the technology." The Doctor's eyes sweep over her. The dress is actually looking a bit snug in places; flowing skirts, tight around the waist, buttons leading up to a low-cut neckline. "I don't think they've thought to take breathing into account yet."

"Are you looking at my _cleavage?_"

"What, no!" he splutters and looks up. "I'm just concerned for your lungs!"

Donna glances down and reaches up to adjust her décolletage. "Well," she says casually, "it does look bloody marvellous in this."

The Doctor barely has the time to notice that she's smirking at him before intently focusing his eye line anywhere above her cheekbones. "I'm a Time Lord; I have no interest in your," he gestures vaguely in her direction, "intermammary sulcus." He really hasn't. Not in this dress or any other, and especially not that blue blouse that seems to be missing a lot of buttons. Time Lords are above such silly, physical things. "Actually," he continues. "I'm more worried about your hair. How did they get it to do that?"

Donna tilts her head, making it look like gravity is going to have her topple over. "You're one to talk!"

The Doctor runs a hand through his (rather brilliant, if he does say so himself) hair. "Getting off-topic. What exactly were you doing when they found you?"

"Wasn't doing anything," Donna says around another mouthful of strawberry-grapes. "I was at the marketplace. This alien-person-lady - at least I think it was a lady alien--"

"Actually, they have at least five different genders and neither of them are what you'd identify as female. Weeellll, two of them do have--"

"_Anyway_," Donna interrupts, "this alien-person-whatever was trying to get me to pay through the nose for this stupid, little thing. Well, I wasn't having any of that. Really, just 'cause I don't speak the language doesn't mean I don't know when someone is trying to trick me."

"Ah," the Doctor says as events connect in his mind and start making sense.

"What? What's that 'ah' about? I know that 'ah'."

"Donna," he says levelly. "It's your voice."

"What's wrong with my voice?"

"Oh, there's nothing _wrong_ with it. You've got a lovely voice. Very functional."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They don't speak." He gestures at the aliens. "No vocal chords. And you… well, you can be a bit… loud." He can hear her all over the TARDIS sometimes, it's very practical. He has the presence of mind not to say that last bit out loud.

"Are you saying this is all because of my _voice_? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And I am _not_ loud."

"No, really. Try it. Yell something." He smiles. Probably a little too big, but he just really likes her voice. It's sort of brassy and really, really, well, Donna-ish. "Be loud, Donna."

Donna shoots him a murdering look and takes a deep breath. "STUPID, BRAINLESS, OUTER-SPACE, BLOODY _TWIT_!"

The Doctor's ears briefly shut down from the sheer volume; the aliens, though, they've thrown themselves on the ground in what looks like abject terror. Donna's mouth falls open as she looks at the scene in front of her. "All right," she says finally. "Maybe it is my voice."

"_Now_ can we leave?" He may be shouting. It's hard to tell over the ringing.

Another bowl of strawberry-grapes is hastily placed in Donna's lap. "In a minute."

 

* * *

 

"Doctor," Donna says some time later. "Why are they looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like _that_."

 

* * *

 

"Come on, Donna!"

"You try running in a corset!" Donna pants, hiking her skirts up higher with one hand. "I can't breathe!"

"Running with a harpoon coming out of your chest isn't much easier, trust me. I recommend speed in favour of oxygen!"

He can spot the TARDIS a bit further away in the market place, but the aliens aren't far behind either. Donna's cheeks are bright red and the hand in his is warm and sweaty, but she increases her pace anyway, wheezing, "I hate you!"

"What?" he says, glancing back at her and as a result very nearly running straight into a stall with squishy-looking fruit, saved only by Donna tugging him to the side. "What did I do?"

"You brought me to a planet where they worship anyone who more than _whispers_..." she pauses for a moment to suck in a couple of breaths, "worship them so much they want to bloody _kill_ them and _eat their tongue_!"

That's a terribly unfair conclusion to come to. Not only has he been trying to get her to leave all along, but also, "How was I supposed to know that?"

They've reached the TARDIS now; the Doctor's already got the key ready, and it takes him only a second to get the door open and pull Donna in.

"I don't know!" she says as she leans back against the door. "Don't they teach you space geography in Martian schools?" She's breathing heavily, parts of her straining against the constricting dress in ways that look slightly dangerous.

And really, really distracting.

"If you stop talking you might find it easier to breathe," he suggests, flipping a switch that sends the TARDIS spinning precariously close to a supernova.

"Oi! Watch where you drive!" Donna says as the ship shakes violently around them.

"I am!" he protests and tears his eyes away from her to watch where he's driving.

Once he has the TARDIS safely parked in the Vortex, the Doctor turns back to Donna, who's gone to stand just outside the corridors connecting the console room to the rest of the ship.

"So?" She's got her hands on her hips and one eyebrow quirked. The Doctor has the distinct impression he's missing something very important.

"What?" He leans back on the console in an attempt to look suave, and manages to jab himself between the ribs with the transverse wave de-stabilizer.

Donna sighs deeply. "You really are an idiot, aren't you? Huge Time Lord brain, yet dumb as a brick. Can't take a hint if you're blatantly staring at it. I am out of buttons to unbutton and you're still not getting the message? What I'm saying is, are you going to help me get this thing off or what?"

"Right," the Doctor says once he's processed that. Which probably shouldn't take as long as it does. He swallows. "Right, yes."

Then he notices that Donna has already gone.

Time Lords are above such silly, physical things. Except when they're not. He blinks and runs after her.


End file.
